


Coming Back to You

by Longpig



Series: Growing Pains [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: All the Blades are Alive Because I Said So, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Awkward Conversations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I honestly haven't decided if this will get smutty or not, M/M, Medical Trauma, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prisoner of War, Rating May Change, Reunions, Ulaz can be kind of a dick, Whump, blade of marmora, ex-lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-09-07 11:45:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16853419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longpig/pseuds/Longpig
Summary: Thace had always known that the day would come when he and Lotor would cross paths again. He held out the slim hope that they might meet under more favourable terms than those under which they’d parted, but he feared that the next time he saw Lotor, it would be across a battlefield. Heneverexpected it would go quite like this.





	1. The Traitor

**Author's Note:**

> This work is set a nebulous number of years after the previous one in the series, [_Don't Look Away_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14128557) (which is itself a sequel to _[The Difference Between Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11935341/chapters/26979087)_ ). It's not strictly necessary to read them first, but it will probably make more sense if you do! 
> 
> This picks up immediately after the season 4 finale episode 'A New Defender.'

The Blade of Marmora communications console was in a state of barely organized pandemonium. Half a dozen competing comm channels beeped for Thace’s attention, as reports came in from all over the quadrant. Faces masked and unmasked flashed on and off the screen almost faster than he could identify them, as the display switched with dizzying speed from one frequency to another. Coran. Kolivan. A younger Blade to whom he couldn’t put a name. Olia. An avalanche of secondhand chaos as his allies reported the details of their tactical situation.

The outlook was dire. Barely half a quintant ago, everything seemed to be proceeding according to plan; the Zaiforge cannons were captured. Target planets had been pacified, and Naczela was ready to fall next. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye. Thace now feared he would witness the end of Voltron, the coalition, and any future resistance to the Galra Empire. Naczela had been a trap, a planetary time bomb set to wipe out the entire system; and Voltron was ensnared. At the last dobosh, the legendary defender had managed to free itself, but too late; there was no chance they would make it out of the system. Those who could retreat fled as best they could, on the slim chance that they could outrun the coming blast. A Galra fleet loomed on the outskirts of the system, waiting. Thace was waiting too. Waiting for a miracle. With Kolivan leading the mission to the cannon on Zinfana, Thace now stood in his stead at their base, watching alone and powerless as his allies struggled in vain.

Suddenly Keith was leading a charge against the fleet. The flagship, bearing a weapon unlike any they’d seen before, was in control of the bomb on Naczela. The voices on the comms were a cacophony of panic and desperation. The rebels were battering themselves bloody against the cruiser’s shielding, all to no avail.  _ They are dying.  _ The thin metal that housed the display projector caved under his claws as Thace gripped the sides of the the terminal, his ears pulled back against his head. He ought to be there, fighting alongside his brothers and sisters, not sidelined like an invalid. Sweat prickled at his temples, dampening his fur.

A cacophony of frenzied calls lit up the comms. Keith’s name, over and over.  _ What is he  _ doing? His heart raced. Adrenaline buzzed at the edges of his consciousness, but with nothing at hand to fight or flee it just made him feel sick.

An explosion cracked across the channels, and the shouts of the coalition died in a hiss of static. Thace’s breath froze in his chest, heavy and cold. A quick, frantic scan of his readouts told him Naczela was intact. The weapon had been disarmed. But that meant…  _ Keith. _ His heart dropped through his stomach. A single beat of silence stretched into eons.

_ “It wasn’t me.”  _ Across the lightyears, Keith’s words sounded small and hollow.  _ “It was Lotor.” _

Thace’s mouth went dry. His insides twisted into knots as a voice he hadn’t heard in decaphoebs rang across the open channel.  _ “Attention, Paladins of Voltron and rebel fighters. I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but I think it is time we had a discussion…” _

———

“Did you see him?” Thace hurried to keep up with Kolivan’s brisk pace as he strode down the corridor toward the lifts. All around them, the base was a hive of activity following the return of the war parties. Most of the Blades were abuzz with the thrill of victory—their most significant triumph since felling Zarkon—but Kolivan, dour as ever, did not share their exuberance. Perhaps he was still shaken by Keith’s nearly averted sacrifice, Thace mused.

“No.” It was more a grunt than a word, growled through gritted teeth. “Keith took him to the Castle of Lions to await debriefing.”

Conflicting emotions churned in Thace’s guts, but he kept his tone carefully neutral. “Understood.” He clasped his hands behind his back as they waited in awkward silence for the elevator, unconsciously clenching and unclenching his grip on his own wrist. After a lengthy dobosh, the lift opened, disgorging a group of more junior Blades who moved aside to allow them passage, with a deferential nod to their leader.

As the doors sealed them off from the rest of the base, Kolivan sighed quietly. “I’m certain he will be treated fairly.” Though his expression was as unreadable as a mask, the tone was softer, more gentle than what Thace had expected.

He’d never told Kolivan the details of what had happened all those decaphoebs ago on Lorokan III. He hadn’t needed to. The Leader knew he was compromised, and that was all he needed to know. It was the only mission Thace had ever failed, but the guilt and shame he felt had little to do with the miscarriage of his assignment. It was personal. He had betrayed a fragile trust, not easily bestowed. Cast aside something precious and sweet in favour of the cold compulsion of duty and honour. The thought of it soured his stomach and made his heart ache; so he tried his utmost not to think of it. For the most part, he was successful—his life as a double agent had made him exceedingly good at compartmentalizing. But sometimes— _ sometimes _ —it was not so easy to forget. Slender fingers carding through his fur. Small, sharp fangs in his neck. A honeyed voice dripping in his ear…

Thace cleared his throat, grateful that Kolivan had not noticed his distracted state. “I would expect no less,” he managed. His claws threatened to sink into his vambrace.

Kolivan gave a quick nod; the matter was adjourned as far as he was concerned. Thace uncurled his fingers from around his wrist, and tried to relax his stance. Tried to school his thoughts into a more rational shape. A reasonable man would be pleased, or satisfied, at least, with the day’s outcome. Their operation had succeeded, with minimal loss of life, and Lotor was secure in the Paladins’ custody, where his information would be an immeasurable asset to the coalition’s efforts. 

Thoughts of the disgraced prince, however, were the enemy of Thace’s reason. The internal walls that he’d so carefully reconstructed after his failure on Larokan III had been under siege since his return to the Blade of Marmora.

When he’d awoken in the medical bay, after what he later learned was movements in a chemically induced coma, the first thing he’d wanted to know was whether Zarkon had been defeated. Ulaz was only too eager to relate, with his characteristic understated enthusiasm, the tale of the final battle against Voltron. Thace was pleased to hear that the alien Blade he’d encountered aboard the Hub had returned safely to his comrades, and indeed had been the one to find his escape pod floating among the wreckage of the Komar and the Emperor’s mech. The other news—that Prince Lotor had been summoned back to rule in his father’s stead—had been more complicated to process. There was no love lost between Lotor and the Empire. Most of its citizens had disowned him when his father did; and Lotor openly despised and defied Zarkon’s style of rule. The fact that he would be chosen to lead, instead of someone like Throk or Gnov, was surprising; the fact that he had accepted even more so. This conundrum worried at Thace’s mind, left as he was with little to do during his long convalescence. Before he had fully realized what was happening, thoughts of his old friend and one-time lover had become daily ruminations.

Added to this, Lotor’s name seemed to be on everyone’s lips, haunting him throughout his recovery. First the word was that he’d recaptured Puig, and moved against Voltron. Then he’d somehow manipulated the Paladins into retrieving a trans-reality comet, which he then spirited away. Next his generals had appeared with a new ship made from the comet’s ore, and attempted to steal a piece of the teludav… It was an ominous puzzle, with too many missing pieces.

Then there was Keith. A bond had formed between them after their encounter on Central Command, and Thace had developed a fondness for the boy akin to what one might feel for a younger sibling, or perhaps a nephew. The sometime Paladin visited Thace regularly, and usually, what he wanted to talk about was  _ Lotor _ . Keith was fixated on him. At first he was convinced that ‘dealing with’ Lotor, whatever that meant, would end the war once and for all. Then when he dropped out of sight, he was obsessed with tracking him down. Thace kept his responses neutral, mostly in the form of exhortations to proceed with caution; but inside, his heart was a battlefield. He worried about what Keith would do if ever he caught up with Lotor, and what Lotor might do to Keith.

For good or ill, their next news of Lotor was Zarkon’s order that he be killed on sight. The Emperor’s return to power required the coalition, and the Blade, to refocus their energies. It was at this time, after phoebs of delay, that Kolivan finally relaxed his stance on Thace’s return to active duty. Though the Leader would never admit the cause of his reluctance, it was clear that he wished to avoid any chance encounters with Lotor. Though it had rankled him to be sidelined, even after Ulaz had cleared him for field work, part of him was grateful. Thace had always known that the day would come when he and Lotor would cross paths again. He held out the slim hope that they might meet under more favourable terms than those under which they’d parted, but he  _ feared _ that the next time he saw Lotor, it would be across a battlefield. With the Prince serving as Emperor Pro Tem, this unpleasant possibility would have approached certainty with each successive mission. Kolivan had spared him this; Thace only prayed that no one else would make the connection.

He wondered whether it was mere coincidence, or some kind of divine insight that had led the Leader to choose him to stay behind and man the comms today. He was uncertain whether or not he was glad of the distance; uncertain of so much… _ If I had been there with Keith… _ Then what, exactly?

Thace shook his head, willing the troublesome thoughts away. His ears twitched against his hood. The lift bobbed slightly as it arrived at the command level, and he followed Kolivan to his office, and waited at ease while he installed himself behind the desk. Antok arrived soon after, still riding the high of battle, his tail swishing back and forth. Thace envied him.

Kolivan nodded a curt greeting as Antok took his place next to Thace, calling their meeting to order. After an operation of this scale it was standard procedure for the inner circle to debrief and review the overall mission; and the three of them now comprised the most senior remaining members of the Blade, save for a few still operating undercover. Thace listened attentively while Antok and Kolivan compared notes from the field, interjecting with supplemental information from his own reports when required. Next, it was his turn to give a summary of their allies’ activities in other sectors, with a breakdown of how they dovetailed with the Blade’s efforts.

“I still maintain,” he couldn’t resist adding after his report was complete, “that my talents would have been put to better use in the field.”

Kolivan gave a weary sigh, edged with a rumble of impatience. “I needed someone to coordinate operations from the base. Someone with experience and a cool head.”

“You drew the  _ short _ straw,” interjected Antok, with an amused huff and a mischievous flick of his tail.

Thace let out a soft growl, half annoyed, half resigned. His absence had not made him any fonder of Antok’s jokes about his stature—which was  _ perfectly average! _ —but at least they were familiar. “Crex’ sake,” he muttered. Antok’s tail twitched again, and Thace could picture all too well the sharp, satisfied grin behind his ever-present mask.

“Speaking of cooler heads,” Antok continued in a more sober tone, “how do you mean to deal with Keith’s reckless actions in the battle today? He was a tick away from killing himself, and the likelihood of his ship even breaking through the cruiser’s shields—”

“—I am aware.” Kolivan’s hands formed a stiff steeple over his desk. “I have not yet decided. His plan was well-intentioned, but as you say…” His fingers curled over each other as he mulled. “It is fortunate that—” A chime from the console on his desk demanded his attention, interrupting his train of thought.

_ “Leader.” _ At the touch of a button, Regris’ voice came across the comm. “ _ Keith has returned to base. He has—” _ There was some muffled speech in the background, breaking into Regris’ words. _ “He wishes to see you,” _ he amended. Thace lifted an eyebrow, curious, but said nothing.

“Good,” Kolivan grunted. “Send him to my office.” He tapped the console, ending the communication. “That boy has the Emperor’s ears,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “We will see what our young Blade has to say for himself.”

“Don’t take him too harshly to task,” Thace counseled. “I’m sure he is quite conscious of... what could have happened.”

“He  _ is  _ very young.” Antok affirmed, shrugging his massive shoulders.

“Your concerns are noted.” Kolivan’s tone was not unkind, but brooked no further discussion. “Now. I would like to review the battle maps again while we await our wayward son.” The wry twist to his lips was reassuring, at least. Thace nodded in deference, and pulled the charts up on his datapad.

It was approximately five doboshes later that the door swished open, and the quiet office erupted into confusion.

Kolivan was on his feet before Thace had fully processed the sound of the hatch. His mask flickered over his features in the space of a heartbeat, but not before Thace caught a glimpse of the wide-eyed snarl on his face. It was pure reflex to activate his own cloak, to defend his identity against whatever threat the Leader had detected. His hand flew toward the blade at his hip as he turned, then faltered, stunned into stillness by the sight before him.

Keith was not alone. At his side stood the former prince of the Galra Empire, wrists bound by plasma cuffs in front of him.

“What have you done, Keith?” Kolivan demanded, his voice a barely restrained roar.  _ “He _ cannot be here!”

To his credit, Keith did not flinch at Kolivan’s fury, but rather blinked in confusion. Lotor merely looked bored, his blue eyes sweeping around the room with a detached curiosity. Thace felt his throat closing up, as though he’d swallowed a stinging burr.

“The Princess doesn’t want to have him on the castleship,” Keith began. “She doesn’t trust him anywhere near the lions. I thought—”

“ _ No. _ ” Kolivan’s fist slammed into the table. “Take him to Olkarion. He cannot stay here.”

“The Blade of Marmora does not take prisoners,” Antok growled. The clandestine, tight-knit nature of their organization was such that surviving enemy combatants were left to their own devices—marooned, typically—or executed if they were deemed too dangerous. Captives were a liability and a drain on resources… but Thace knew that was not the reason for Kolivan’s objection this time.

Keith’s eyebrows knitted together, his eyes darkening with frustration. “The Olkari won’t know how to deal with him! They don’t have the skills to, to”—he gestured with one hand, searching for a palatable word—”question him.”

“One prison is as good as another.” That  _ voice _ . It was one thing to hear him over the comms, but to be in the same room… The fur on Thace’s neck bristled under his collar. His chest felt constricted; he realized he’d forgotten to breathe. Fumbling for internal balance, he willed his diaphragm back into a measured rhythm; bid his pulse to slow its racing. “Though I do wish you would make up your minds,” Lotor drawled, dripping ennui. “All this traveling is becoming rather tedious. Truly, if this is how you treat all your prospective allies, I fear for the long-term future of your coalition.”

Kolivan growled low in his throat, deep and menacing. “You are  _ not _ our ally.”

“He saved my life.” There was a stubborn jut to Keith’s jaw that Thace was coming to recognize all too easily. “And the information he has could save countless more.”

“I am quite prepared to cooperate,” Lotor added with an affable smirk, “but perhaps you are not as committed to ending Zarkon’s tyranny as I’ve been led to believe.”

Keith shot him a dark, warning look. In the strained ticks of silence that followed, Thace fancied he could hear Kolivan’s teeth grinding, his frustration barely contained. His own focus, however, was beginning to recover after the initial shock; and he took the opportunity to steal a more appraising look at Lotor. There was something amiss about his appearance, something that, when viewed with a clearer head, didn’t sit quite right.

Behind the affectation of lofty indifference, Lotor looked  _ tired _ . Shadows circled his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time Thace had seen him. He was pale, drawn. The Lotor he’d known was fastidious about his appearance and grooming; but under the edge of his armour, his bright orange collar was darkened with sweat and grime, and his hair looked as though it hadn’t been washed in at least a couple of quintants. There was something odd about the way he held his arms as well, his wrists pressed close to his body. Thace frowned, the lines around the bridge of his nose furrowing deep.

“The boy has a point,” Antok said, finally breaking the silence. This elicited another unimpressed rumble from the Leader.

“We can lock down one of the empty berths,” Keith followed up, quick to take advantage of the opening. “For now, at least.”

Kolivan’s claws curled tightly around the edge of the desk. “Very well,” he relented, though his posture vibrated with displeasure. He had no grounds to object without revealing Thace’s secrets. He aimed a brusque nod toward Antok. “Take him away.”

“I’ll do it.” For vargas afterward, Thace would wonder why his voice chose that particular instant to return. The words leapt free before he’d even had a chance to consider them; he wasn’t sure he’d actually spoken aloud until Kolivan whipped his head around to stare at him.  _ He must think I’ve gone mad.  _ In his mind’s eye, Thace could see the vein over his brow ridge pulsing. He swallowed hard, as though he could put the words back down. Lotor’s gaze flicked in his direction. Holding his breath once again, Thace prayed that his mask’s voice modulation had been enough to conceal his identity, at least for now. Lotor’s ear twitched slightly, but otherwise his expression betrayed nothing.

“Suit yourself,” Antok shrugged, either oblivious or indifferent to the tension between the other Blades.

“Fine,” Kolivan spat, in a tone that was anything but. Thace didn’t envy the junior Blade—possibly Keith, at this point—who would be tasked to buff the claw marks out of his desk. “Go.  _ You” _ —he leveled a claw at Keith—”stay here. We have a few things to discuss.” Keith’s throat bobbed, the colour draining from his face; he wasn’t immune to Kolivan’s ire after all. Thace couldn’t blame him; he could feel the fire in the Leader’s glare even through the mask. He moved past Keith, hoping to effect an exit before Kolivan could change his mind and direct that anger toward him instead.

Lotor offered no resistance as Thace took his elbow to escort him from the room, his only visible reaction a minute tightening around his eyes. He kept his shoulders straight and head up high as Thace steered him through the base, as though he were a visiting dignitary and not a prisoner of war, ignoring the curious looks and whispers they garnered as they passed. Thace tried not to think about how warm Lotor felt. Tried not to think of the last time they’d been this close.  _ When I ruined everything. _ Instead, he turned his mind to deciding the quickest route to a less-populated section of the barracks. It was a sad fact that since the Blade of Marmora had begun operating more openly, their casualties had been higher; as a result there was no shortage of empty berths. What he would do when they got there… That was another thing he was trying not to think about.

It was a trivial matter to reconfigure the door’s access panel to recognize only authorized members of the Blade. A few extra keystrokes sent a message to Kolivan, advising him of where Lotor would be sequestered. He pressed his palm to the scanner; the door slid obediently aside. A few steps forward, and it glided shut once more, sealing Thace into the small room with Lotor. His pulse was hammering in his ears again, sweat dampening the fur under his collar. Lotor turned toward him, and though of course his face was hidden, Thace swore he could feel those sapphire eyes boring into his. His tongue felt like a lump of pumice in his mouth.

“Well?” It was the first Lotor had spoken since leaving Kolivan’s office; the sound of his voice knocked Thace off balance all over again. He froze, stunned into bemused silence. Lotor gave a barely audible huff, his eyebrows twitching downward as he held his cuffed wrists out toward Thace.

“Oh—of course,” he mumbled, fumbling over his words. He wrapped one hand around Lotor’s forearm—Fury, but his own hands were so large and clumsy compared to his—while the other keyed in the deactivation sequence. Lotor’s breath hissed quietly through his teeth as the cuffs released.

“So, you’re to be my jailer.” Lotor stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone suggested detached amusement, but his posture belied it. His arms were held just a little too tightly against his body, protective, as if…  _ He’s wounded, _ Thace realized with a start, a pang of concern slicing through his muddled thoughts. He was unsure what to do with the information however; it was obvious that Lotor was trying to conceal his injury. How might he react if he thought Thace was calling attention to his weakness?

“This isn’t a prison,” he said instead. In fact, the small room was not much different from Thace’s own quarters: a simple bunk set into the wall with storage above and below, a small desk with a single chair, and a utilitarian en-suite adjoining.

“Oh of course not. ‘The Blade of Marmora does not take prisoners,’” Lotor parroted. “I have certainly had worse.” He glanced around the suite, taking in his new surroundings, before fixing his gaze on Thace once again. “You can take off that mask now; I know it’s you.”

Thace’s mouth fell open; his breath frozen in his throat. With a quiet sigh of resignation, he dropped the cloak, then reached up to pull back his hood. For a dobosh, neither spoke.

“You look… well,” Lotor said finally. “I heard you were dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” He offered a weak smile. It was a feeble attempt at humour, he knew.

“I asked after you when I returned to Central Command. They told me you had died a traitor. I thought to myself, ‘ah, it’s what he would have wanted.’” The corner of his mouth hinted at a smirk, but no mirth touched his eyes.

Thace tried to think of another clever rejoinder, but came up dry. The noisome silence began to take hold again, thickening the air between them. “Lotor…” he faltered, his voice trailing off as he struggled internally. What could he say to him, after all this time? That he’d never meant to hurt him? That he wished he could have made a different choice? It all seemed so empty. “It’s good to see you.” The weakest of platitudes—he cursed himself as soon as he’d said it.

Lotor laughed, but it was not the rich, melodious sound that Thace remembered; instead it seemed hollow, dry and brittle. “You must be the only person in the galaxy who could say that with a straight face,” he said, not bothering to conceal the bitter note. Thace’s ears drooped, his chest constricting once again.

“What happened to your generals?” he asked, softening his voice. They had seemed so close when he had met them on Lorokan III, almost like a family, and all of them obviously devoted to Lotor.

“We parted ways.” Lotor’s tone was icy and cavalier, but Thace noticed a fleeting narrowing of his eyes, almost like a wince. A fresh split, he deduced, and not by Lotor’s choice. What could have happened to break that bond? The tight set to Lotor’s jaw told him that question was not up for discussion.

“I see.” Thace cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his crest with a palm. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how to put it into words, nor even if he should. “Is… Is there anything you require?” He hoped that Lotor might admit he was hurt, and accept an offer of medical attention; but the odds of that happening in any reality were vanishingly slim.

Lotor’s crossed arms pulled tighter against his chest. “No. I am merely… fatigued,” he said. “It has been a long quintent.”

Thace swallowed his sigh, and nodded instead. “Of course. I’ll leave you to rest. Kolivan—the Leader,” he corrected, cursing his distracted thoughts, “will be assigning a guard—”

“—Not you?” Blue eyes fixed his. Did he imagine it, or did the hard, thin line of Lotor’s mouth waver?

“Would you prefer that?” he asked, cautious. Thace’s heart jumped into his throat; but whatever softness might have been present in Lotor’s expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“It makes no difference,” Lotor flatly replied, turning away. “As I said, one prison is as good as another. I imagine the same is true for turnkeys.”

_ Turnkey.  _ Thace schooled his features, trying not to wince.  _ Fair enough.  _ “Well.” He shuffled awkwardly back toward the door. “I’ll speak to you again, I’m sure. Soon.” Lotor made a noncommittal sort of noise, and absently nodded his head.

As the door sealed behind him, Thace drew his hands down over his face, stifling a groan. _What in the Void am I doing?_ He felt like banging his head against the wall, but feared Lotor might hear him on the other side. _I should have agreed with Kolivan when he wanted to send him away. Or at least kept my mouth shut and let Antok be his escort._ _I must love suffering,_ he thought, with a bitter twist to his lips. He wasn’t doing Lotor any favours either. _After all this time, I couldn’t even manage an apology; only stale jokes and banalities._ His shoulders slumped as he trudged back the way he had come.


	2. Undertow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor attempts to process his current situation.

Lotor waited for a dobosh, then two, to make certain that Thace did not mean to return. Slowly, he let out his breath, his shoulders twinging as he relaxed his stance and dropped down to sit on the edge of the narrow bunk. He leaned forward over his knees, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes to assuage the ache behind them. It felt as though his eyelids were lined with sand.

Stars, but he was tired. It had taken an inordinate amount of concentration not to trip over his own leaden feet on the way here; to pry his parched tongue from the roof of his mouth and will it to shape the expected words. It had been quintents since he’d rested properly; how many, he couldn’t say. It wasn’t safe, not with Zarkon hunting him.  _ Safe, _ he thought bitterly,  _ is that what I am now? _ It was a relative term, he supposed. The Blade of Marmora seemed less likely to kill him in his sleep, if nothing else.  _ Sleep… _ He leaned back against the wall, his eyelids flagging. He ached with exhaustion down to his very core. The mattress was hard, and there was no bedding; but he was far past caring about such trivialities. He would gladly have laid down on the floor; and besides, he was disinclined to make any requests of his wardens. His shoulders throbbed, still protesting being ripped from their sockets during his escape; his throat was dry and sore, his stomach empty and unsettled; but he did not want to appear weak.  _ Well, no more than I already have by allowing myself to be trundled about like a bizzek to market. _ His injuries would heal, and he was fairly confident that the Blade of Marmora would feed him at some point, however unaccustomed they might be to prisoners. Better that they remain suspicious than to know the true depth of his desperation.

_ “All of Lotor’s plans failed.” _ Ezor’s mocking voice echoed in his thoughts. Failed they had; spectacularly so. Everything he’d worked for, decaphoebs of planning and research, all that he’d scrabbled and fought to hang on to… gone. A wave of nausea rolled over him as Narti’s face flashed before his eyes, blank and uncomprehending as he cut her down. That was the moment when everything had truly fallen apart, when the downward spiral had begun. Fleeing his ship. The long, awkward flight to Daibazaal. The failure at the rift gate. His generals’ treachery; Acxa— _ Acxa _ , for crex’ sake!—shooting him in the back… They’d planned to deliver him to the slaughter to save their own skins; and he couldn’t say that he blamed them. What had he given them to believe in? Nothing but betrayal and failure. He cursed himself for being too caught in his own panic to explain what had happened, how he’d realized that Haggar had somehow taken hold of their friend. Maybe it was better this way. Separated from him, there would be no danger of the witch getting her insidious claws into any of the others. And  _ fuck, _ when had she learned this new sorcery? He did not bother to question why she had targeted Narti instead of himself;  _ that _ answer was obvious: she had known which would hurt more.

And now, at his lowest point, here was Thace; as if the universe wanted to remind him that he could always be brought lower. Thace had beseeched him, all those decaphoebs ago, to come back with him to the Blade of Marmora; but Lotor had not wanted to give up all that he’d worked for, nor to divulge his plans to an organization he neither knew nor trusted. Instead, he’d asked him to stay—the closest he’d come in all his years to begging—but Thace had chosen his duty to the Blade; and left Lotor with his secrets, his generals, and his plans. Now all of that was gone, his future hanging in tatters; and he was with the Blade—and Thace—anyway, but not in the fashion that either had intended. The irony left a foul taste in his mouth.

He'd never slept as well as he had that night he'd spent with Thace, never felt so safe and at peace… but of course it was all a lie. An adolescent fantasy he had wanted to believe in so badly that he had let himself be blinded to the truth. Thace could never have felt the way that Lotor had wished for. What had happened between them was a result of nothing more than curiosity, nostalgia, and drink; and even if it wasn’t, Thace would never choose him over his duty. Haggar had known it, even if she hadn't realized quite how divided his loyalties were. She had chosen him just as she had chosen Narti: to hurt him. She'd sent Thace to remind him that there was nothing he could possess that she and his father could not taint or destroy. It was tempting to wonder if she’d had a hand in his reappearance at this particular moment—but no, there was no way even she could have foreseen this eventuality amidst all the other possibilities.

It had shaken him, nevertheless. He had already accepted the fact of Thace’s demise, moved past the numb, empty feeling that news had left him. Seeing him again now was… what? Surprising? Upsetting? Consolatory? Lotor struggled to process the emotion. He felt the bite of his claws against his palms, and realized he had curled his hands into fists. He did not have the luxury of dwelling on something so…  _ Pointless. _ He needed to put emotion aside, and focus on salvaging his situation. Thace was a complication, but one that he could overcome.

He would get through this. A setback, that was all it was. He would adapt. Evolve. Just as he always had. To surrender was to die, and he had decided long ago that no matter what befell him, he must survive if for no other reason than to spite his parents. 

The strategy was simple. He had more than enough information about sensitive targets in the Empire to make himself a valuable intelligence asset, and absolutely no compunctions about sharing it. He would earn the trust of the Blades, and then, hopefully, Voltron’s paladins and the Altean Princess. If he could convince them of his intentions, he could make them see the value of helping him in return.

And then he would never have to spare a thought to Zarkon and Haggar again. He allowed himself a small smile at the idea, almost relishing the pain of his dry lips cracking, until another swell of nausea dispelled his optimism. Grimacing, he clutched at his abdomen, as though a strong enough hand might settle his stomach.  _ Perhaps some water would help _ . Stars knew he needed it; his ship had not been supplied for extended travel, and there was only so much his suit could reclaim. He pried his unwilling eyelids apart and glanced toward the lavatory door.  _ Just a few steps. _ Lotor’s muscles groaned in protest as he pushed himself to his feet. His head swam, the edges of his vision darkening as the world spun around him. He braced himself with a hand against the wall to keep from toppling over, a muttered curse on his lips. He was more weakened than he’d realized; and his moment of inertia had allowed it to catch up with him.

Gritting his teeth, he lurched into the bathroom. His heart was racing at an alarming rate; he clutched the sides of the wash basin for support.  _ Not good. _ He glared balefully at the undeniably unwell man in the mirror, trying to slow his rapid, shallow breaths.  _ Not good at all. _ His fingers shook as he loosened the faucet, and cupped his gloved hand under the stream. The water was not particularly cold, and it was undoubtedly recycled, but at that moment it was sweeter than any wine he’d ever tasted. He slurped it up eagerly, and when his hand could not deliver it fast enough, he bent to drink directly from the tap, sucking in great, greedy gulps, heedless of the excess running down the side of his face and soaking his collar.

When his mouth no longer felt as though it was full of gorlum husks, he stood again, throwing his head back to flick his dripping forelock away from his eyes. Too late, he realized the foolhardiness of such a sudden movement, as his vision tunneled once more. Unsteady, his ears ringing, he made a frantic grab for the sink, but caught only air, reeling backward as his legs gave out beneath him. There was a sickening crack as the back of his head connected with the doorframe, and then everything receded into darkness.

The next thing he knew was pain. His head was pounding, and his shoulders throbbed fiercely. Confusion fogged his thoughts, the weight of it heavy on his consciousness, threatening to push him back down into the darkness. Where was he? What had happened? He struggled to remember. A thousand jumbled voices echoed in his head, none of them offering answers. Louder and louder they grew, swelling and blurring together until he thought the wall of noise would deafen him, crush him, swallow him up…

“He’s coming around. Good.” One voice stood out from the clamor; clear, precise, clinical. Long, thin fingers brushed his face with a spidery touch. Claws prickled on the sides of his chin. Unease coiled in his gut. Slowly, he forced his eyes open, but could not will them to focus; his vision swam in smears of color and vague shapes.

He saw enough. A long, pale face in a dark hood. Golden eyes.  _ Druid. _

Panic seized him, gripping his throat like a vice. How?  _ How had she found him?  _ Adrenalin spiked, spurring his exhausted limbs to action. “Get your filthy hands off me, demon!” he roared. With all the strength he could muster, Lotor drew back his knee and drove a kick solidly into the druid’s midsection. The creature went flying out of his sight, and he heard it coughing something that sounded like a curse—but that couldn’t be right; druids, in his experience, did not  _ swear. _ Groggy, shaken and bewildered, he struggled to sit up; but something held him back: large hands gripping his abused shoulders. Another face swam into view; a darker purple, broader than the first. Handsome.  _ Distinguished. _

“Thace,” he croaked, his bleary eyes widening.

“Lotor.” Thace’s deep, steady voice gave him something to hang onto as he fought his way back to consciousness. He shot an arm out, a desperate reflex; his clawed fingers curled around Thace’s bicep. Warm. Solid.  _ Real. _ “You need to calm down,” Thace was saying. Lotor’s eyebrows angled into a frown. He couldn’t think clearly; couldn’t remember how he had gotten here; the pieces of the scene didn’t fit and nothing made  _ sense _ …

_ “Help me,” _ he hissed.

“No one is going to hurt you.”

Lotor almost believed him, until he felt the sting in his neck, and the waves of darkness swept over him, pulling him under once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and flail with me about these two on [tumblr](http://lotors-saltwife.tumblr.com) or [Pillowfort!](http://www.pillowfort.io/saltwife)


	3. Night Comes On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought you wanted him conscious,” Thace growled, glaring daggers at Ulaz from where he sat on the edge of the bunk. He caught Lotor’s hand as it slipped listlessly from his arm, and placed it carefully over the blue crest on his breastplate. His features had gone slack again with whatever Ulaz had given him, but his breathing was still rapid and shallow. Thace gave an unhappy huff, his brows knitting with concern.

“I changed my mind.” Ulaz tucked the hypospray back into a pouch at his belt.

Thace’s head whipped back around to Ulaz. “He was confused! Disoriented!” _Terrified._

Ulaz clicked his tongue, unimpressed. “Dangerous. I suspect I will be wearing his bootprint for at least a movement,” he said with a grimace.

“I think he thought you were a druid,” murmured Thace. He looked down at Lotor again, resisting the impulse to brush the hair away from his too-still face.

There was an indignant snort from where Ulaz hovered above him. “I will try not to take that personally. Now, help me remove his armor. It interferes with my scans.”

“Right… Of course.” Thace gave a perfunctory, distracted nod as he moved to assist. He kept his eyes on his hands, trying not to think too hard about what he was doing. Fortunately, though the aesthetic of Lotor’s armor differed from the Imperial standard, the basic design and construction was similar; and he was able to disconnect his mind from the work of his fingertips.

For a few doboshes, at least.

“How did you find him?” Ulaz’s voice jolted him back to reality. His hands faltered. He fumbled, nearly dropped the vambrace he’d just pulled from Lotor’s arm.

“I was on my way to, uh...” he stammered. His skin warmed under his fur. He didn’t want to have to explain to Ulaz the reason for his presence in Lotor’s room. He cast a furtive, guilty glance at the bundle he’d hastily deposited on the desk, consisting of a blanket, some clothes, and a few other sundries. “I was bringing him… some things—”

Ulaz clicked his tongue again, cutting him off. “Not how did you come to be here. His condition when you arrived.”

“Oh—oh, of course.” Thace’s ears twitched; he cleared his throat. “He was on the floor, like this. Well, not precisely like this, since I didn’t _drug him”_ —Ulaz gave an indifferent huff—”but unconscious.” He frowned, something in his chest twisting in response to the fresh memory. He hadn’t expected Lotor to answer the door—he couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to—but he’d pressed the chime as a courtesy, even if it was an empty one. He’d intended to leave his meager peace offering with the guard, but somehow there he was, keying open the door himself. He still didn’t know what he’d been thinking, but whatever possibilities he might have entertained had fled his mind when he saw Lotor slumped on the floor. Thace’s ears drooped, the cold weight of worry settling in the pit of his stomach. “He threw up when I tried to move him… Mostly water.” He sighed. “And then I sent the guard to fetch you.”

“Hm.” Ulaz’s thin lips were set into an unreadable line. “Pass me my medkit.” Thace nodded, and lifted the heavy case onto the edge of the bed. He tried not to fidget as he waited for Ulaz to retrieve the scanner, but couldn’t keep the nervous twitch from his ears. With careful, precise movements, Ulaz unfolded the diagnostic device and placed it over Lotor’s breast. A faint magenta light pulsed through as it activated and began transmitting readings to the holodisplay on his vambrace. He huffed thoughtfully to himself as he scrolled through various readings.

“Well?” Thace prompted.

“Patience,” he scolded. Thace swallowed an irritated growl, but Ulaz ignored him, focused solely on his diagnostics. “There is some soft tissue damage around his shoulders. Possibly a sprain or dislocation.” He tapped the control on his wrist, switching to another display full of statistics Thace couldn’t decipher. “Moderate to severe dehydration. And”—another tap—”mild radiation poisoning.”

“Radiation?” Thace’s voice pitched higher than he’d intended. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“I said it was mild,” Ulaz deadpanned. He collapsed the display, lowering his arm. “He will be fine. Will you?”

Thace hesitated to meet his eyes, already wilting under the piercing, inquisitive gaze. Ulaz was his oldest friend among the Blades; they had trained together, and Ulaz had remained undercover almost as long as he had. They understood each other. _Perhaps too well._ Ulaz was the only one in whom he had confided the full truth of what had happened with Lotor on Lorokan III. He sometimes questioned the wisdom of that decision, but with Keith unwittingly tormenting him about Lotor, he had found he couldn’t bear the burden of the memories—and his conscience—alone. “Of course,” he said, though he was sure of no such thing.

“Hm.” Ulaz’s eyes narrowed. He reached past Thace to take Lotor’s hand, and pushed the sleeve of his flight suit up to his elbow. Thace shuffled back awkwardly, making space for him to work. “I noticed that those items you brought were not standard issue. You did not requisition them from the quartermaster.” A fact, not a question. Ulaz did not look up from his task as he pricked the tiny needle into Lotor’s forearm and taped it into place, but Thace felt the weight of his judgement nonetheless. _Caught._

“No.”

“They’re yours.”

“... Yes.”

“Hmmm.” Ulaz’s brows lifted slightly as he affixed a bag of clear fluid to an antigrav support. “Interesting.”

“No it isn’t,” Thace snapped, all too aware of how defensive he sounded. “The requisitions take too long, that’s all.” _And it’s always chilly in this part of the base, and he gets cold easily, and he looked so tired, and…_ He bit the inside of his cheek to halt his runaway thoughts.

Ulaz stood back, the drip now installed to his satisfaction. “If you say so,” he said with a shrug. “At any rate, I should have him transferred to the medical bay. He ought to remain under observation overnight.”

“He’ll hate that,” murmured Thace. _Void knows how many people, seeing him like this?_ “I’ll do it. I’ll stay.”

Ulaz sighed, not a flicker of surprise disturbing his features. “Of course you will.”

Thace continued to feel the weight of Ulaz’ judgement long after he had gone. He hadn’t said anything directly, of course. It wasn’t necessary. Thace understood his thoughts quite clearly, and Ulaz knew it would be futile to voice them. Instead there was the quiet display of resignation; the sigh of moral superiority; the unspoken promise of ‘I told you so’s to come.

It was far, far worse because he was right. Thace knew he should have let Ulaz move Lotor to the sickbay. Knew that he shouldn’t have come back down, that he shouldn’t have let himself be alone with Lotor at all.

He knew that he _definitely_ should not be sitting in his room, watching him sleep.

Not for the first time, his hand hovered over his comlink, ready to summon Ulaz; but, as every other time, hesitated, then dropped back to his knee. He vaguely recalled offhand comments alluding to Lotor’s mistrust of clinical medicine—considering Thace’s own experiences in Haggar’s laboratory, he could hardly be blamed. For him to awaken in the medical bay, surrounded by strangers, probably restrained, was an indignity too far; and if Thace could spare him, he would. It was the least he could do.

Lotor stirred in his slumber, shifting his legs under the blanket Thace had spread over him, and Thace wondered if whatever Ulaz had given him was beginning to wear off. He had been deathly still for hours; the slow rise and fall of his chest the only thing keeping Thace from checking on him more closely. He frowned, the curl of his lip revealing a flash of fang before he turned his head away with a quiet huff.

 _What troubles your dreams, old friend?_ Thace sighed as a dismal heaviness settled in his gut. _The past? The present? The future?_ He recalled Lotor’s face, eyes wide with pleading and panic as he clawed desperately at his arm, just before Ulaz had sedated him. His chest tightened.

Lotor turned onto his side, away from Thace, muttering under his breath—something about a ship. Thace pricked up his ears, but couldn’t make out anything else. A low growl, and then he rolled onto his back again. The lines between his eyebrows were furrowed more deeply now, his eyelids twitching, nostrils flared. The hand that lay over the coverlet fisted in the fabric; and even in the low light Thace could see his claws were fully extended.

 _Should I wake him?_ His own fingers curled tightly together. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the ridiculous impulse. _And then what?_ He shut his eyes tightly, but the darkness behind his lids could not dampen the faint noises of distress Lotor was making, nor the sound of his restless tossing and turning . _I should not be here._

_“Narti!”_

The harsh cry startled him back to alertness. Lotor was halfway out of the bed; eyes as wide as a startled animal’s, long limbs flailing, tangled in the blanket as he fell. Thace was out of the chair before he gave it a conscious thought. He wasn’t quick enough to stop Lotor’s fall, but he managed to keep his head from hitting the floor. With one arm gracelessly shoved under his shoulders, and the other around his waist, he braced the half-conscious man into an awkward half-sitting position. Lotor’s claws sunk through the fabric of his suit as he clung to him for stability, biting into the meat of his shoulder. A slow trickle of blood ran down toward his elbow from where Ulaz had placed the needle, now torn free by his struggles. His eyes were wild, unfocused; his breath ragged and quick.

“Lotor…” His voice faltered as he grasped blindly for something reassuring to say.

Lotor looked up sharply at the sound of his name. His hand shot toward Thace’s face fast enough to make him flinch; but instead of claws or a blow, he felt long, slender fingers curl into the ruff at the back of his neck. “Thace?” His voice was thick, slurred. Ulaz’ concoction might have begun to wear off, but it was clearly still having a considerable effect.

“You… you were having a nightmare,” he murmured. He hoped it sounded reassuring. “It was only a dream.”

The grip on his neck tensed. Lotor’s eyebrows drew together, his mouth a thin, pained line. “No, not… not only,” he muttered. “Would that it were.”

Thace swallowed around the lump forming in his throat. “What happened?”

 _“Narti,”_ he groaned. Her name was a lament so laden with grief that it chilled Thace to his core. “She became… compromised. The witch… I had to act. The others, they… didn’t understand. They wanted to turn me over to my father, but I escaped. Destroying me is his newest fixation.” Exhausted by his confession, struggling against the influence of the drug in his system, his head sagged against Thace’s shoulder. It was instinct to gather Lotor’s slender frame closer to his own body, to try and offer what small comfort he could.

“You’re safe here,” he whispered. This time, Ulaz was not there to make a liar out of him. “Zarkon cannot touch you.” _I promise._ Lotor made a pained noise that was not quite a grunt or a whimper, muffled as he pressed his cheek against Thace’s chest. Thace tried to tell himself that this muddled, emotional state was purely pharmaceutically induced—even when they were young, he had never seen Lotor so raw, so vulnerable. _Except once._

 _“Choose_ me. _” He begged me. And I couldn’t. Didn’t._ Now those who had sworn to look after Lotor when he’d left had abandoned him as well. And what was he doing, but taking advantage of his disorientation and intoxication to extract information? His throat burned as though he’d swallowed poison. He’d never felt more like the traitor the Empire had branded him. Paralyzed by the renewed understanding of his faithlessness, Thace couldn’t muster the will to do anything but hold Lotor as he succumbed once more to the sedative. His hand slipped away from Thace’s neck, slim graceful fingers sliding through his fur before falling limp against his chest.

Thace’s ears pressed back against his head as he let out a long, rough sigh. He prayed to whatever powers were listening that Lotor would not remember this exchange when he awakened, for both their sakes. Careful not to jostle—as careful as he could be with his broad and graceless hands—he picked Lotor up and set him back on the bunk, then shook out the discarded blanket to drape it over his prone body. Lotor did not stir, despite the shock of hair that had fallen across his nose. Perhaps it was the absurdity of the picture it made, or how itchy it made Thace just to look at him, but he could no longer resist the urge to smooth it back out of his face.

Blue on gold eyes opened slightly at his touch, a sliver of pale light behind a heavy fringe of lashes. “Thace...” he breathed; a crestfallen whisper. “I lost my good luck charm.” His eyelids fluttered shut once more as his head lolled listlessly to the side.

Thace stepped—almost staggered—back from the bed. “That’s alright,” he croaked, though he was certain Lotor was well past hearing. “I’ll get you another one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Come and flail with me about these two on [tumblr](http://lotors-saltwife.tumblr.com), [twitter](https://twitter.com/sglongpig), or [pillowfort!](http://www.pillowfort.io/saltwife)


	4. Everybody Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor struggles to earn the trust of his 'hosts'... But can _he_ even trust himself?

Lotor’s consciousness returned slowly this time, a slow expansion of awareness rather than a desperate scrabble for reality. He felt a hard mattress beneath him, an unexpectedly soft blanket covering his body. He heard the faint buzz of artificial lights, and the soft whoosh of recycled air being forced through vents, like breath. Where was he? His thoughts were lethargic and thick; but slowly it came back to him: he was on the Blade of Marmora base. He did not remember lying down, however; and he certainly did not recall taking off his armour. Lotor scowled as he reached for the last pieces of the puzzle. He’d been in the lavatory, sick, and— _ oh. _

Flashes of nightmare imagery came to him through the fog. A face like a druid’s looming over him. Thace’s voice telling him to calm down. A sharp pinprick of pain in his neck. His subconscious had undoubtedly added some embellishments, he decided—Haggar’s puppets would be even less welcome here than he was—but something had happened.  _ Drugged, _ he concluded. His head ached, and his mouth tasted as though something had crawled inside it and died. The signs were clear; whether it had been for medical or other reasons, less so. In another lifetime, he might have been amused by the thought of Thace sedating him to get his suit off…

_ No. Stop that.  _ He squashed the unseemly, treacherous thought before it could gain any momentum.  _ Focus. No distractions. _ Right now, what he needed was to assess his situation. Keeping his breaths slow and even, he shifted slightly on the bunk.  _ No restraints. _ So he was guarded, but not shackled; that at least was to the good. Carefully, he opened his eyes a crack, just enough to view a sliver of the room through the screen of his lashes. The main lights had been dimmed, but one strip next to the washroom still glowed violet. By its soft illumination, he could make out a figure sitting by the small desk, half slumped, leaning on one elbow: Thace.

A flurry of emotion rippled through him before he could tamp it down. Confusion over why he was here watching him in his vulnerable state. Indignation at the invasion of privacy. Relief that it was not someone else.  _ Distraction! _ He berated himself again, and tried to divorce himself from the unwelcome intrusion of sentiment. Refocusing his objectivity, he watched Thace in silence for a few doboshes. He moved little, his breathing deep and slow. Satisfied that he was indeed asleep, Lotor opened his eyes fully, and sat up to take better stock of his circumstances. His missing armour was now stacked neatly in the corner nearest the foot of the bed; but of most immediate concern was his flight suit, open nearly to the waist. One sleeve was pushed up to his elbow, flakes of dried blood clinging to his exposed forearm. He frowned, eyes narrowing as they landed on the antigrav support bearing an empty IV bag and dangling tube. With a supple movement he swung his legs over the side of the bunk, mindful to keep the rustling of the blanket as quiet as possible. The metal deck was ice cold beneath his feet, sending chills up through his body. He glanced at Thace once more, but he still had yet to wake. He pulled the floating device toward him to examine its cargo, and breathed a silent sigh of relief; the bag’s contents were listed simply as neutral fluids.

Thace chuffed softly in his sleep, drawing Lotor’s attention back to him. Before he could still himself, a thoughtless hand reached toward his slumbering form, outstretched fingers longing for the memory of soft, silver-streaked fur—until Thace twitched his ear, shifting in his seat with a quiet grunt. The spell was broken; Lotor snatched his hand away as though he’d been burned, clutching it against his racing heart. He was sweating now, cold and clammy; uncertain whether it was due to the shock or his weakened physical state. He waited for a dobosh, holding his breath, but Thace did not stir again.

_ Idiot, _ he cursed himself silently. Such a lapse in judgement was uncharacteristic, unconscionable. He turned his attention instead to the stack of items on the desk. Careful not to disturb their arrangement yet, he made a quick inventory: sleeping clothes, a towel, a bar of soap… His eyes flicked to the lavatory door.  _ Soap. A shower… _ The thought of being clean again made him feel almost giddy. After a movement on the run, his hair was greasy and dull; and his flight suit was grimy and sweat stained, clinging unpleasantly to his body. It made his skin crawl whenever he stopped long enough to be aware of it. Like now. He frowned, absently running his tongue across his fangs. He misliked making himself any more vulnerable… but was that even possible at this juncture? His lips twisted into a wry grimace. Decision made, he gathered up the pile, still wary of disturbing Thace.

He was pleased to discover that the bathroom door was equipped with a lock—one easily overridden, to be sure, but he was prepared to indulge in even the illusion of privacy for now. The water was not as hot as he would usually have preferred, but that scarcely mattered. Standing under the spray, rivulets streaming down his body, he could almost forget where he was, and how he had gotten there. He could almost forget everything.

_ Narti’s blank face. The thin hard line of Acxa’s lips. _

The uninvited memories hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs. His arm shot out involuntarily, seeking the support of the wall until the moment passed. As he blinked the water from his eyes, his gaze settled on his forearm, where the last faint streak of blood thinned to vanishing.  _ Would that it all came off so easily. _

He washed quickly after that, forgoing any indulgence beyond basic hygiene. The soap Thace had supplied was unscented—which suited him well, as he was particular about such things—and seemed reasonably mild, but he was reluctant to use it on his hair, settling for rinsing it out as best he could before concluding his ablutions.

With the warmth of the water gone, the room seemed even colder than before, and Lotor shivered as he hurried to towel himself off. The chilly weight of his damp hair on his back and shoulders was no help, but lacking even a comb to his name, much less a heat dryer, the best he could do was twist it all into a knot at the base of his skull—except for the uncooperative strand at the front which still insisted on springing free.

Now at least passably clean, Lotor cast an appraising eye on the clothing provided for him: a dark blue shirt and pants with a drawstring; simply cut but made from a soft, warm fabric. Part of him was loath to give up his custom uniform, so closely tied to his personal identity, for some shapeless fatigues; but the greater part couldn’t bear to put the stale, sweat stained suit on his freshly washed body.

As he expected, the clothes were far too large for his slender frame—Galra standard issue ‘one size’ items usually were. The trousers hung embarrassingly low on his hips, and he had to cinch the waist as tight as it would go to avoid being completely indecent. It was a small comfort that, if the shirt were equally oversized, it would at least afford him some modesty. As he tugged it over his head, he caught a breath of something like fresh outdoor air, a sharp note of woodsmoke, and an undercurrent of spice… He froze mid-movement, the shirt still half covering his face, his nose full of the disconcerting redolence.

_ Thace. _

The memories it conjured were vivid and inescapable. The taste of wine mixed with sazàn. The blazing heat of Thace’s body pressed against his, hard muscle rippling under soft fur. Lotor’s stomach tensed, his breath caught in his throat. The scent was not as strong as if the clothes had been worn, but rather the fainter impression left by an extended proximity. Lotor let his arms drop to his sides, allowing the top to fall into place. He stared at his reflection, wide eyed and pale.

Thace had brought him his own clothes to wear?  _ Why? _ The dumbfounded expression in the mirror darkened to a scowl. His chest felt tight; his face too warm.  _ Is he trying to mock me? Shame me? Throw it in my face that… _ That  _ what?  _ Lotor growled under his breath. He wasn’t sure what ‘it’ even was. He would have to change, unpleasantness be damned. All other reasons aside, he looked ridiculous, like a child playing dress up… But just as his fingers brushed the hem of the shirt, he heard a shuffling noise from the adjacent room. He paused, ears pricked upward, listening. There was another rustle, then the scrape of a chair moving across the metal floor. Lotor cursed his luck; Thace was awake. It would not be long before he was compelled to check on his charge. There was no concealing that he had accepted his offering now. If he emerged wearing his own soiled clothes instead, Thace would wonder why he hadn’t kept the clean ones. _ No. Not wonder. _ He would  _ know _ . Lotor swore again, silently mouthing the words. He would not be found having an existential crisis over a voidbefucked pair of pyjamas. He would muster what dignity he had left, and feign ignorance. Squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, he turned away from the mirror and opened the door.

A slim, gaunt-faced man rose to greet him, tall and lavender-skinned with pale markings and a fluffy white crest. “Thace’s presence was required elsewhere,” the stranger said, reading the flicker of surprise that Lotor had failed to conceal. “I am Ulaz, the chief medical officer at this facility. The Leader has asked me to ascertain your fitness to undergo debriefing.” The precise, detached voice was eerily familiar.

_ Ah, here is my druid. _ “You drugged me.” It was neither a question nor an accusation, merely a fact. Lotor eyed him cautiously.

“You kicked me,” Ulaz replied, with a minute shrug. Lotor closed his eyes briefly as more scattered pieces of memory slotted into place. He allowed himself a wry smile.

“My most sincere apologies,” he offered, affecting magnanimity despite his situation. “I was not myself. If you wish to conduct your examination, I promise there will be no further outbursts.” It was easy to slip into the role—the charming diplomat, the chastened ex-prince with just enough of the villain to be what they expected.

Ulaz hummed in what might have been either skepticism or assent. “If you would, please.” He gestured toward the now vacant chair; Lotor obliged.

The neck of his tunic gaped enough that Ulaz did not need to ask him to remove it before placing the diagnostic sensor below his collarbone. Lotor resisted the instinct to flinch away from the touch, but sat stiff and still while Ulaz perused his readouts. He despised medical trappings and procedures; and furthermore, he could not shake the impression that the medic was staring through the holoscreen and inspecting him personally. A much younger, less jaded version of himself might have brushed off the feeling as paranoia, but he was wiser now.  _ What has Thace told him about me? _ he wondered. The thought unsettled him, but he willed his features to remain still, his breathing measured. He would not give Ulaz anything else to investigate. After what seemed like a varga, he plucked the device from Lotor’s chest and tucked it back into his satchel.

“Did I pass?” He smirked up at Ulaz with an air of insolent indifference.

“Were you aware that you were suffering from radiation poisoning?” Ulaz asked, ignoring his facetious query.

“I had an inkling.” He busied his hands with rolling up his sleeves.

“Might I inquire as to how that happened?”

“I flew too close to the sun.” He flashed a fang, but Ulaz did not so much as lift an eyebrow.

“I see,” he said flatly, unimpressed. “You will be please to know that your readings are returning to a normal range. These”—he produced a small bottle of pills and set it on the desk—should help alleviate your remaining symptoms. I have also brought some analgesics, should your other injuries trouble you.” A second bottle was placed next to the first. Lotor tried to keep the suspicion from his face as his gaze flickered over them.

“That is most gracious of you.”

“And of course, your breakfast.” He wasn’t certain, but Lotor thought he glimpsed the barest flash of amusement in Ulaz's golden eyes as he set out a tube of greyish-purple nutritional paste. “It may not be quite what you are used to, I’m afraid.” Doubtless the Blades found the thought of the pampered prince being forced to eat their slop terribly droll… If they had any idea of the literal garbage he’d consumed to survive at his lowest points, they might have tried a little harder, he reflected.

“I’m sure it is delicious.” He smiled as graciously as he could manage.

“It really isn’t,” Ulaz replied, with the flick of an ear. “I will inform the Leader that you are ready for questioning.” He hoisted his bag on his shoulder, preparing to leave, then paused at the door. “I will see that you have some more… appropriate clothing requisitioned.”

Lotor kept his expression meticulously schooled, though his gut curdled. There was no doubt in his mind that Ulaz knew exactly whose clothes he was wearing. “Would it be possible to have my own items cleaned and returned to me?” It took a feat of will to keep his tone neutral.

Ulaz hummed noncommittally. “I can inquire.” Lotor suspected, somehow, that he would not. “An escort will arrive shortly to bring you to the briefing room.”

‘Shortly’ proved to be about five doboshes later. He’d barely had time to consume the sustenance packet—which was as flavorsome as Ulaz had led him to believe—and swallow his prescribed medicines. He had debated forgoing the pills, but ultimately decided that if Ulaz wanted to poison him, there would have been more reliable ways, and more opportune times to do so. By the time the guards shuffled him across the base to the debriefing, his stomach had begun to settle, and the ache in his shoulders dulled. His head was still pounding like a drum, but that might have had more to do with the monotonous drone of Kolivan’s voice over the endless vargas into which the meeting seemed to stretch. Thace was not present; only the Leader; the large, tailed man called Antok, whom Lotor assumed to be his second, and the guards outside. The second kept his mask activated, making him impossible to read, but Kolivan’s dour distrust was palpable. The conversation, such as it was, seemed to go around in circles.

_ “Show us the supply lines for this quadrant on this star chart. How many fleets are there? What are their positions? What targets are vulnerable in this sector?” _ And over and over again:  _ “Why should we trust you?” _

“Because I have nothing to gain by betrayal,” he explained yet once more. “The Empire has turned its back on me decisively. Joining myself to the Coalition is the only chance I have of achieving my goals. Goals which, as I’ve said, are the same as your own: to end Zarkon’s tyranny and bring peace to the Galaxy.”

“Which you would do by providing the Empire with an endless supply of quintessence,” Antok intoned flatly, his tail twitching from side to side.

“Not only the Empire,” Lotor corrected sharply. Fatigue has allowed a hint of irritation to creep into his words. “But yes. The Galra need for quintessence has fueled this insatiable, unsustainable expansion. With access to an unlimited source, and with my father defeated, there would be no more need for conquest and war.”

Kolivan scowled, thick arms folded across his chest. “So you expect us to simply… fly into this gate of yours to access it. Even though it didn’t work for you.”

“No, not you. Voltron.” Lotor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I believe that King Alfor imbued it with Altean alchemy, the effects of which my own efforts failed to duplicate.” A failure whose sting was still fresh.

“And if Voltron were to be destroyed in the process, you would of course be terribly aggrieved,” said Antok.

“Voltron has already proved capable of piercing the veil between realities, when it retrieved the trans-reality comet.”

“Which you then stole,” deadpanned Kolivan.

Lotor slumped back into his chair, frustration getting the better of him. “Yes I stole it,” he snapped; “and yes, I allowed Voltron to take that initial risk. I did not see another option at the time. My position was too precarious to be seen openly allying with the Coalition.” He leaned over the table once more, folding his hands together in an attempt to restore composure. “But now, as you can see, I have no position at all.” That was true, too. Tired, ungroomed, and dressed in his ridiculously oversized clothes, he felt rather like a vagrant; and in a way he supposed he was.

“You’re an opportunist.” said Antok.

“I prefer ‘pragmatist’.”

“Enough.” Kolivan rumbled deep in his chest. “I will bring your words to our allies for discussion later. Now, tell me again about the supply lines in this quadrant.”

And so it went. By the time he was returned to his room, Lotor was thoroughly drained. He did his best, of course, to conceal his exhaustion while under the Blades’ watchful eyes, sinking down to sit on his bunk only when the door had sealed him in.

“Patience,” he muttered to himself. Once they had verified the intelligence he’d provided so far, perhaps they would be more willing to trust. In the meantime, he would have to endure their suspicion and veiled hostility. It therefore came as no surprise to Lotor to realize that someone had been in his room while he was absent. They had left a bundle of what appeared to be clothing, along with another sustenance packet, but their true hope had doubtless been to find some incriminating item secreted away, something they’d missed when they had searched his person. He smirked, imagining their disappointment at finding only his dirty clothes… which they had apparently confiscated. Lotor’s grin melted as he realized that his armor had been impounded as well.  _ Stars forbid I should have any defenses left to me. _ At least they’d let him keep his boots—possibly only because he was wearing them.

With a resigned sigh, he rose to examine what had been left for him this time, which proved to be a number of simple black garments of the sort typically worn under Galra armor. To his relief they appeared far more suited to his proportions than his current garb. The Blades he’d been able to observe in his limited movement through the base were much more varied in size than a typical Galra crew—one advantage to his current situation, at least. He suspected he was far from the only Galra of mixed heritage; though most wore their masks in his present, he had spotted features that could not come from that ancestry alone.

Getting out of Thace’s clothes was a welcome reprieve. Although the scent had worn off over the course of the quintent, Lotor’s mind seemed determined to invent echoes of it, summoning the troublesome memories that went with it. As anonymizing as the plain suit was, its neutrality was a comfort; though the lack of armour left Lotor feeling woefully exposed.

As he was tugging his boots back into place, the door chimed. Lotor’s head snapped up, and he stared at it incredulously. Clearly he had no way of responding, and no power to keep anyone out, so what was the point of such a gesture?

He should have expected it to be Thace. Who else would offer him even an empty courtesy? Lotor found himself rising to greet him before he could think better of it. Striving to preserve his dignity, he clasped his hands behind his back and lifted his chin to address the visitor.

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Thace was carrying a small packet; no hand-me-downs this time.

Thace offered him a small, tentative smile that crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “Antok told me it was a long quintent.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking for all the world like a nervous cadet. “I thought I would see how you were doing.”

Lotor considered for a few ticks, trying to divine what Thace’s objective could be. Distraction? Or had he been sent, as before, to gain his trust, that he might divulge more closely guarded secrets. How foolish did Kolivan think he was, if he believed that ploy would work a second time? Thace rubbed distractedly at the back of his crest, perhaps unnerved by the scrutiny. Lotor felt as though a great weight was pressing into his chest, crushing the air from his lungs. He screamed internally. The charade was indignity piled atop indignity, but he would not give them the satisfaction of knowing how it rankled.

“Well enough,” he said at length. “It was no more than I expected.”

“Right, of course,” Thace answered quickly, nodding. “I, ah… I’m sorry I had to leave this morning. I was called away. Duties, you know how it is.” His ears drooped sheepishly. The weight grew heavier.

“It is of no importance. As you can see, I no longer require such supervision,” he said, affecting an air of detachment. It seemed to have little effect on Thace.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better. I was… concerned.” His eyes shone like stars, bright and dangerous. Lotor looked away, dropping his gaze to the object in Thace’s hand.

“What’s that?” he blurted out, and immediately cursed himself.  _ Clumsy. _

Thace pricked up his ears, ignorant of Lotor’s misstep. “Oh, I brought you a pikar bun from the officers’ mess. Just something to compliment the sludge.” Grinning, he peeled back the covering and held it out toward Lotor.

Panic gripped him. Was this a test of some kind? What would it mean to accept or to refuse? He eyed the roll warily, but longing was overtaking his suspicion. The aroma of the spiced, savory filling made his mouth water. Since leaving Lorokan III, real, fresh food had been a rare indulgence… Just because he was  _ used _ to the bland liquified rations, it didn’t mean that he didn’t miss the alternative. He carefully plucked the bun from Thace’s outstretched hand. It was still warm. He cradled it in his palms, letting its heat radiate through to his fingertips.

“Thank you,” he managed. It sounded softer than it should have.

“It’s the least I could do… I wanted to be at the debrief today, but Kolivan wouldn’t allow it.” Lotor’s attention refocused on Thace. He narrowed his eyes as he waited for him to continue. “He knows—well, he suspects—that I’m… compromised with regards to you. He was afraid that my, uh, bias would interfere with the questioning.”

“Is that so?” he asked stiffly, suddenly cold despite the warmth in his hands.

Thace sighed, scratching the back of his head again. His ears lowered. “He knows we were friends, and… well. He never asked me, ah,  _ exactly _ what happened between us on Lorokan,” he faltered, color rising in his face. “I just want you to know… I kept my word. I never shared your secrets. Only that you were not ready to join us.”

Lotor blinked, a perplexed frown creasing his brow. How could Thace manage to be so damnably  _ earnest? _ And why did Lotor want to believe him? What was it about Thace that so called out to his atrophied sense of trust, against all logic and reason? He tore his gaze away, turning aside. “It doesn’t matter now anyway. They know everything.”

Thace swallowed audibly. “... Everything?” That was enough to summon the ire he needed.

“Everything  _ relevant, _ ” he snapped. “Your shame is safe with me.” From the corner of his eye he saw Thace’s crestfallen look, ears drooping, and hated himself for the pang of guilt he felt.

“That’s not—I didn’t mean…” Thace mumbled, his voice absurdly small.

Lotor sighed, weary down to his soul. “Forgive me,” he relented. “It seems my manners have become somewhat frayed. As you said, it has been a long quintent. Again.”

“It’s alright, I understand,” Thace said softly. Lotor doubted very much that he did. “I’ll go; you need your rest.”

“Thank you again.” He held up the bun with a wan smile.

“Anytime.” The grin Thace flashed back was devastating.

The pastry he’d left might well have been delicious, but Lotor hardly tasted it as he sat on his bunk, mechanically chewing, staring at the wall. He had turned inward; reflecting, processing—or trying to, anyway. He was confused; frustrated both with himself and his situation. He didn’t know what Thace wanted from him. He had looked for the dagger behind the smile, and found nothing; but he knew all too well that Thace wasn’t the only one whose judgement could be ‘compromised’. Whatever he was seeking, it wasn’t anything Lotor was prepared to give up. Could not be. He would not allow himself to be vulnerable, to be hurt again. He steeled himself with bitter resolve.

_ Fool me once... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and flail with me on [tumblr!](http://lotors-saltwife.tumblr.com)


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